“Do you really want to know what happened to your son?” Maureen asked. “The patriot?” She gestured at his chair, making it clear she wouldn’t continue until and unless he sat. Curiosity flickered in his eyes. Gage sat.
“Did you know what your son was doing here in New Orleans?” Maureen asked. “He was running guns for criminals, for gangs that deal in the murder of children and the sale of narcotics, and for organizations classified by federal law enforcement as domestic terrorists. Organizations like the Watchmen that target law enforcement for murder.”
Gage leaned over the table. “Slander. Conspiracy.” He stabbed the center of the legal pad with his bony finger. “Right here, I want you to put a piece of paper right here that proves those things are true. Something better than the cop-forced confession of a dead black drug dealer.”
“Did you know what Clayton was doing,” Maureen said, “and if those activities might be what got him killed?”
“A person is what killed him.”
“Technically, having his throat opened up with a straight razor,” Maureen said, “is what killed your son. I want to know what happened before that. During the days, the weeks before he was killed.”
“My son was his own man.” Gage’s leg bounced like mad under the table.
“Did he come to New Orleans looking for a woman named Madison Leary? Did he come here because she stole from him? Did he come here to kill her?”
Did you?
“My son was a patriot,” Gage said. “Which makes him the natural enemy of people like you. That’s why you’re so eager to believe slanders against him.”
“Can you tell me anything useful to catching your son’s killer,” Maureen asked, “or do you want to talk some more about the Constitution? Do you, Clayton’s father, know anything about your son’s life?”
“Would you believe anything I told you,” Gage said, “that didn’t conform to the lies you choose to believe?”
“Mr. Gage,” Maureen said, “we’re trying to figure out if your son’s numerous criminal activities, trafficking in illegal weapons chief among them, led to Clayton’s tough exit from this mortal world. I vote yes, but we’re open to contrary opinions. We stay open to all possibilities. Do you have anything to offer either way? Any specific enemies you can point at? Names, maybe?”
“You do enjoy hearing yourself talk,” Gage said.
“Almost as much as you do,” Maureen said. “Our interests are aligned, you and the NOPD, as much as that may turn your stomach. We both want to catch the person who killed your son. If you think he had enemies, do tell, I’m all ears.”
“I doubt that we have any interests in common,” Gage said. “I doubt that very much.” He snatched his pen and legal pad off the table, stuffed them into his bag. He rose from his seat. “You know, you’re the first cop I talked to who hasn’t said ‘sorry for your loss’ or something like that.”
“On the record,” Maureen said, rocking back in her chair, “as a representative of the New Orleans Police Department, let me express my condolences. I am sorry for your loss. Off the record, and knowing how you feel about liars, I’ll do you the courtesy of the truth. Your son conspired to murder police officers. I am one of those officers. I have bullet holes in my house to prove it. Mr. Gage, the only thing I regret about your son’s death is that I didn’t get him first.”
Gage stared at her. Maureen expected an explosion of rage, it was the response she’d been after, but she could’ve sworn he stood there fighting back a smile. He said nothing before turning away and striding out the door. Maureen watched him go. Much better self-control then she’d anticipated. So much for provoking him. An amateurish strategy.
When the door closed behind him, she bowed her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. She had certainly fucked that up. She hadn’t even raised the subject of Caleb Heath. The name Madison Leary had gone nowhere. Nothing helpful to Atkinson. She’d be going back to everyone empty-handed. She wondered if she could concoct an excuse for another interview. When she thought about it, Gage hadn’t gotten anything out of her, either. Why had he even asked to meet her? To recruit her for the cause? A waste of everyone’s time.
Maybe she’d ask Detillier for another crack at the man. Maybe when she went looking for witnesses in the Garden District that night she would actually find one. She wanted to go looking for Dice only as a last resort.
The waitress appeared at the table, coffeepot in her hand. Maureen covered her mug. She looked up at the girl. “No thanks. Just the check, please.”
The girl pulled a check presenter from her apron and laid it on the table. “I didn’t charge you for his sweet tea.” She looked at the door. “I didn’t like that man.”
Maureen opened her purse on her lap, digging for her wallet, her bulletproof vest digging into the small of her back. “Me, either, girlfriend. Me, either.”